The other day Roomie and I were driving over to school. We passed a row house with a bike on the porch. Generally speaking, this is not strange. Lots of city dwellers choose the bicycle as their mode of transportation. Cyclists are cursed by drivers and pedestrians alike, so, at times I feel quite bad for them. (Unless I’m walking and they’re taking up the full sidewalk – Ride in the street, buddy! – or I’m driving and they’re using up a lane, making my max speed 13 miles an hour – Seriously? You can’t ride on the sidewalk?!?)
But all this is beside the point. We were talking about this specific bike on this specific porch. The thing that made Roomie and I take note was that it was a stationary bike.
See, I always thought the purpose of the stationary bike was to get bike-like exercise whilst avoiding the elements. Apparently the owner of this particular bike (who in my mind is name Milton – or Milty – and has “cool guy tips”) does not agree with that thought process. From where we were sitting, the bike looked to be in good repair and the porch did not appear to be a catch-all for random objects. So, I’m left to believe that Milty uses this bike, despite it being rather chillsome out. What with winter and all.
This, of course, led me to wonder why a person might make this choice. Here’s what I’ve come up with:
Milty returned home after yet another stressful attempt at exercise. In an expression of his frustration, his helmet was catapulted across the room.
“Everyone else outside is such a pain in the neck!” Reining in his fury, he walked over to the iguana tank to feed Dreyfus. “Drivers honk at me, people on the sidewalks yell. I’m just trying to be healthy, people! Man, they really burn my biscuits! But what else can I do?”
And then light shone down from above. Or it could have just been the way the light from the iguana heat lamp bounced off Milty’s wrist reflectors. Either way, inspiration struck.
“I know! A stationary bike! But not inside. I’m not going to be one of those gym-bodies. How lame are they? On the porch. I can enjoy the city sounds and the brisk air and no one will yell at me. Or try to pelt me with chewing gum, like that one lady. And you know what else, Dreyfus? If the cars drive by fast enough, I might even feel like I’m moving!”
The sheer brilliance of his plan astounded him. The very next day Milty bought his stationary bike and the rest of his afternoons went a little like this: